


where are you going to find a lawyer up there?

by sickgirl_mp3



Category: RPF - Fandom
Genre: F/M, beat the heat!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-10 19:22:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11133132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sickgirl_mp3/pseuds/sickgirl_mp3
Summary: She calls me when she’s hotShe calls me for no cause





	where are you going to find a lawyer up there?

“Jordan,” Beyoncé whines, fanning herself with the latest issue of  _ Cosmopolitan.  _

 

“Hm?” he replies, drinking a milkshake he’d made himself.

 

Beyoncé could’ve had one too, but she didn’t feel like it at the time; she now wishes she’d accepted, because the air conditioning in her cheap apartment complex is busted for everyone and it seems like she’s the only one that feels it. It’s the middle of July and she lives in the middle of Houston, why is she the only one who’s fucking hot?

 

“You ain’t think it’s hot in here?” she asks, taking the milkshake out of Jordan’s hand and drinking it, using her free hand to swipe at the sweat on her forehead.

 

“A ‘lil.”

 

“A little? That’s it? It’s,” --Beyoncé checks the weather on her phone and almost breaks down.-- “It’s 101 degrees out and the air conditioning is busted. You should be dying right now.”

 

“We can go to the pool.”

 

“That dirty ass pool? Jordan, no. You gon’ try and fuck me in that pool and we gonna get some dirty ass disease anyway. Fucking or no fucking. No.”

 

“We can go out,” Jordan suggests, watching Beyoncé suck down the thick milkshake that belongs to him. “You want me to make you a milkshake?”

 

Go out? Go out and do what? Cook in the heat like a fried egg and some bacon? Beyoncé could cackle right in his face, she’s so miserable. She sits on the kitchen counter and sighs tiredly, swinging her feet idly.

 

She shakes her head. “No. And we can’t. No money.”

 

“Being broke is fucking garbage. Want me to go talk to the super?” Jordan asks, grabbing her ankle absentmindedly.

 

“Might as well. Ask him when he thinks everything’ll be fixed, please?” Beyoncé asks, almost whining because the heat’s making her so frustrated.

 

“I will. And try not to die, huh, champ?” Jordan asks sympathetically, patting her on the shoulder. He goes to hug her but she makes a loud noise of disapproval and he stops. “Sorry, I forgot.”

 

“Don’t know how, it’s hot as hell in here, but okay, I guess.”

 

* * *

 

 

The heat gets to Beyoncé so much that she throws a temper tantrum about it all by herself with no audience. It lasts five seconds, but it’s still a tantrum nonetheless. She tries to watch television to distract her from the heat, she drinks a large amount of water, she tries to take a nap- but sits up minutes later and laughs spitefully. 

 

As she lays in bed after having sweated her hair out, stripped, and groaned for a minute straight, she hears a harsh, slow banging on the door.

 

“Just a second!” she calls out, making the worst decision of the day and throwing a plush robe on herself, making herself even hotter. She whines, pained by it, irked deeply by it, and answers the door.

 

Jordan stands before her with six bags of ice, his face almost completely covered by them. 

 

“Hey, babe,” he says from behind them, “I can’t feel my face.”

 

Beyoncé steps to the side and lets him in. He makes a beeline for the bathroom, kicking the door shut behind him. She listens at the door and hears the sound of ice going into the bathtub along with water running and grins. She waits for the noise to stop, hearing a dull thump, and she walks into the bathroom.

 

“Hop in, baby,” he mutters, leaning on the counter next to the toilet he’s sitting on as Beyoncé sheds her robe. He lets out a tired sigh and grunts when she jumps on him, straddling and kissing him. “You’re welcome.”

 

Taking off his shirt for him, she kisses his cheek. “Wanna get in with me, Jordy?”

 

“Tub doesn’t fit two people. Remember Valentine’s Day? I tried to get my fat ass in with you and the bathtub overflowed,” Jordan says. “Go on, I’ll get in whenever you’re done, I’m fine.”

 

“Baby,” Beyoncé replies, feeling his warm skin as she holds his cheek and steadies herself with another hand on his shoulder, “You’re really hot.”

 

“Thank you, I get that a lot,” Jordan jokes with a smile and a short chuckle. He shoves the wisp of hair that falls into his face away.

 

Beyoncé shakes her head with a silent laugh, climbing off of Jordan and stepping in the bathtub. She sinks down into the freezing water slowly, and when it reaches her lower back she lets out a high-pitched sigh. As she sits down in the tub completely, her sighs turn into frantic moans at the chill that runs through her body continuously and doesn’t seem to stop. Of course she knows she has no reason to sit in a tub full of ice, but also, she sort of does. The way she sees it, it’s either that or the heat. Her breathing quickens and after a few minutes she begins to shiver, but she doesn’t say anything about it.

 

“Even in this cold ass water, you’re still a snack.”

 

“Jordan,” Beyoncé groans.

 

“‘Cause you’re a popsicle, and that’s a snack, and they keep ‘em on ice-”

 

“Are you satisfied?” Beyoncé asks.

 

“Very,” Jordan says, getting up and leaning over the tub to kiss her.

 

“C-can you put my hair up for me, baby?” Beyoncé asks, stammering because of the cold.

 

“Course.” Jordan looks around for a hair tie and finds one, tying her hair up into a loose bun on top of her head, a few strands hanging by her ears like she always has it. Beyoncé is very obviously shivering now. 

 

“Thanks, J,” she says, shaking.

 

“Okay, Bey. You’ve been in there long enough,” Jordan says, patting Beyoncé on the back.

 

“But I don't wanna be hot,” she whines.

 

“Don't worry about it.” Jordan takes her hand and she stands up, stepping out of the tub and getting a hug from him. 

 

He picks her up and sits on the toilet, Beyoncé straddling him. Her cold, wet feet being on the tile is going to undoubtedly make her sick, but she disregards the possibility. Jordan’s hands find Beyoncé's hips easily, sliding up her thighs and over her ass to rest there. She's so cold that it seems as if he's radiating heat off his skin and she stares at him, leaning in closer to kiss him. 

 

“Stop putting me first,” Beyoncé gripes.

 

“No.”

 

“You aggravate me.”

 

“You hot?”

 

“No, but you are.”

 

“Would you leave me alone if I dunked my head in the tub?”

 

“......Yes.”

 

Beyoncé licks up the side of Jordan's neck, tasting the saltiness of his skin as she does it and she kisses him, open mouthed. She doesn't care about Jordan cooling down as much anymore; at least she doesn't at the moment. 

 

Beyoncé bites gently at a sweat-slicked collarbone before she nips at his jaw, kissing down it.

 

“You’re getting me all wet,” Jordan says.

 

Beyoncé's hand slides down from Jordan's shoulder to his chest and his stomach, feeling the soft ridges that make up his abdominal muscles and the hair that covers them. She unbuckles his belt and undoes his pants; he lifts his hips so she can pull them down. 

 

“You’re so quiet,” she says, her face inches from his. Tired, heavy eyes peer into her own and she kisses him.

 

He bites at her lip, fingers tightening around her hips. 

 

“It’s hot,” he mumbles into her mouth.

 

Beyoncé presses her wet, cold body against his and he sighs.

 

“Oh my God,” he whispers into her shoulder, wrapping his arms around her tightly, “You’re so fucking cool. Holy shit.” 

 

He groans in relief, his warm skin a somewhat pleasant contrast to her body temperature, seeing ass every now and then a shiver or two would still run through her. She squeezes an arm between them, which is made easier by the fact that she’s wet, and she pulls his dick out of his boxers. 

 

“Lemme do it,” Jordan murmurs. Beyoncé lifts her hips and lets go of him. He slides into her easily because she’s so wet and she bites her lip, holding her breath at the feeling of him stretching her out slowly. He thrusts into her shallowly, making her exhale quietly. “You think this could've happened if I’d done what you asked me to?”

 

“Sorry for putting you first,” Beyoncé softly jokes with a roll of her eyes.

 

“It's okay,” Jordan tells her, kissing along her shoulders. He takes her nipple into his mouth while he fucks her and she runs a hand through his hair, using the other to steady herself on the counter next to them.

 

“Stop, I wanna ride you,” Beyoncé says. Jordan obliges, pausing, and Beyoncé sinks onto him, breathing out a quiet “fuck” when he’s fully inside of her. She bites her lip, determined as she rolls her hips against his and gently pushes his face into her tits, and he licks and bites at her skin as he pleases. 

 

Everything about Jordan is currently sluggish in a sense, serene even, and when he picks her up and walks out of the bathroom, he’s moving slow because he keeps stopping to leisurely kiss her. He holds her against the wall nearest to him and fucks her, nosing at her cheek. She dreads to think what it’d be like if it weren’t as easy to get so close; she’d miss things like the way sweat is making her and Jordan’s skin stay slick and sticky, or how Jordan seems to fit her exactly how she wants and needs and likes him to, and she knows she wouldn’t feel as complete if things were another way. 

 

“Jordy,” Beyoncé whines when he loses his pace and gets more erratic. She feels short, quick breaths coming from his nose on her neck and she wraps an arm around his shoulders. Her free hand feels around on the wall next to her for a door frame to hold onto and she decides to give up on finding it and wrap both arms around him for stability, and as always, he doesn’t complain. 

 

Jordan carries Beyoncé back to her bed, laying her down and crawling on top of her. His cheeks are a cute red, probably from the heat they're stuck in, and Beyoncé is struck yet again with the obvious truth that Jordan won't ever stop turning his own wants and needs down to make her happy unless she forces him to. She’s only slightly annoyed by it. 

 

“Jordan,” Beyoncé whispers, and he's hovering over her and pressing into her again. Letting out a short, quiet gasp, she says his name a second time, and he doesn't realize she's trying to get his attention, instead perceiving it as an incentive to keep doing what he's doing. She doesn't help her own self any when she wraps her legs around and him pulls him in.

 

“I love you,” Jordan groans, low voice rumbling from his throat and coming out a little slurred.

 

Beyoncé rubs Jordan's back soothingly, the bed creaking slightly as he moves. 

 

“I know, baby, and I love you too.”

 

Jordan pushes himself up, getting off of Beyoncé, and he holds her legs far apart. He’s sweating, hair sticking to his forehead, and when he stills to push it away, a strand or two pops back up to hang in his face. Aside from breaths out that vary in length, not a thing is heard from Jordan. Beyoncé’s a mess under him, failing attempts at stifling moans and overwrought.

 

“Look at me.”

 

Beyoncé feels Jordan rubbing at her clit before his words register with her and her eyes immediately meet his.

 

“I love you so much, it’s fucking crazy,” Jordan says, breathless and in awe.

 

Beyoncé manages to breathe out a giggle. “You said that already, pretty much, at least.”

 

Jordan shakes his head with a smile, grunting and fucking her a little harder than before, and she feels herself tightening up in the most familiar kind of way. She pushes at Jordan’s stomach instead of chasing the feeling to the end and her loud whines are overshadowed by the even louder creaking of the bed, and her neighbors are banging on the thin walls begging her and Jordan to keep the noise down. Jordan doesn’t even yell something cheeky in reply as usual, instead focusing on Beyoncé, mainly ignoring her implied and half-hearted pleas to slow down. 

 

She tries to whine at him again but she gets cut off right in the middle of saying his name because she comes, back arched up and off the bed. Jordan holds her hips down, thrusting messily and roughly, and anything left of Beyoncé’s dignity and pride is gone because it makes her cry. Jordan hovers back over her, dipping his head down to kiss her, and he accidentally bites her lip hard when he comes right behind her, letting out a ragged groan followed by breathy sighs. He lays on top of her with almost all of his weight for a moment, catching his breath and nestling his head in Beyoncé’s neck, getting sweat on her. 

 

“Hey,” Jordan says, his voice muffled.

 

“Hey, baby,” Beyoncé replies, running a hand through Jordan’s sweat-slicked hair.

 

“I talked to the super and-”

 

The rumbling noises of the building’s air conditioning unit kicking back on outside of the window cut Jordan off and he simply huffs out a laugh. Beyoncé shouts gleefully.

 

“I thought I was gonna die!”

 

“Okay, ice queen,” Jordan says sarcastically, beginning to mock her. “J-Jordan, c-can you-”

 

“See? You wouldn’t be pressed like this if you’d just done what I told you to.”

 

“I don’t know about that.”

 

“Yes you do. I can’t see your eyes right now but if I could I’d see it in your eyes. You know I’m right.”

 

“You’re right.”

 

“See!”

 

“I see.”

 

 


End file.
